


Out Like a Snuffed Candle

by InkDomain



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Death, Experiments, M/M, Male Pronouns, Murder, Prison, Time Loop, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkDomain/pseuds/InkDomain
Summary: Charged with crimes against humanity, those types of criminals are sent to a secret prison hidden in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle. The aim is rehabilitation, and any kind of experiment against them is permitted by the President of America. The Reader is there to survive and get off the island, but their attempts are snuffed.





	Out Like a Snuffed Candle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my deviantart (OperationStabTheCake).  
> Not proof read.  
> Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
> Based upon COD: Black Ops II Zombies- Mob of the Dead trailer/intro. Inspired by the song 'Nightmare' by Avenged Sevenfold.  
> 

Hidden in the Bermuda Triangle is a prison designed for those who deserved more than Hell, their sentence to be carried out in the waters south west of Florida in secret. Alcatraz had been made famous for its location, the prison situated in the heart of the Devil’s Triangle was modelled after said prison. Due to the knowledge of the prison’s existence belonging only to those in the highest of power, mystery was shrouded around the area bordered by Florida, Bermuda and Puerto Rico to ward off investigation. Any explorer who discovered the prison were either executed or imprisoned, forced to work for their keep and to carry out the sentence of curiosity. 

You were unsure of the exact day you came to this island; the days had begun to bleed together until it all felt like one long day, but you were sure it had been years by now. The sentence passed by your judge that you were to be handed over to a penitentiary that specialised in correcting your type of crimes. As one of the most feared prisoners on the island, named ‘Devil’s Heart’ by the inhabitants, you were given high status just by mention of your crimes. Although you doubted that you would be accepted back into civilisation after the atrocities you had committed, you longed for a freedom that had been stripped from you. Attempted prison breaks were rare on this rock, you were just waiting for the perfect opportunity for you to break out of here. 

Everything had been planned out perfectly, down to the time of day that you were expecting the last parts of the plan to fall into place. Of course, that was when there was a new inmate joining the flock. Sitting on your almost bare bunk, you hear the thud of footsteps and the squeak of prison-issued shoes start down the hall and come closer to where you were allocated. The last cell-mate you had didn’t last long, he’d cry whenever he could, and you couldn’t take the pitiful noises much longer. For your actions, you had been put into solitary for two weeks with only water to punish you for the homicide. Your curiosity peaked higher when you heard the low whistles from other inmates, foul and lewd comments thrown out of cells towards whoever was the new addition. Your interest reached its peak and you had to investigate, swinging your legs over the side of the bunk before carrying you to the metal bars that kept you in the cell. 

Across the hall from you stood Francis ‘Weasel’ Bonnefoy, a Frenchman charged with fraud and possession of stolen goods from various very high-class people. There was an added charge for his involvement in the black market, his sentence lessened by him snitching on all those he was ever involved with. You rested your head against the cold of the metal, trying to peer down the hallway to catch a glimpse as the new inmate without any success. Annoyed by the restriction, your hands tighten around the bars as you growl slightly.  
“Oi, Weasel.” You let out a curt whistle to catch the blonde’s attention, his blue eyes snapping over to you in a submissive move of his head. Your head cocks to the side, in the direction of where the footsteps had originated, increasingly coming closer towards your lonely cell. “Spill.” You order from him, watching as his lips widen horizontally to reveal his teeth in an interested smile.  
“Fresh meat, Boss.” His French accent was still thick, but you were more exposed to it than when he first got here. He was good to you, but loyal isn’t a word you stuck to Francis’ name. Before you could get more information out of him, one of the guards escorting the newest member comes into view. His hand his holding onto the prisoner’s arm, keeping him in place next to his side as he marched him to your cell door. You give the guard a curt smile, biting back the bile that rose in your throat to soil your mouth as you forced yourself to behave with one of the men that controlled your lifestyle.  
“Eagle.” You nod to him, referring to him as the nickname the other prisoners had dubbed him as due to his constant knowledge of everything, no doubt thanks to prisoners like Francis. You flick your eyes to your new cell-mate as Eagle motions with his baton, tapping it against the metal bars as an indication for you to step backwards.  
“Alright, [L/N], step back so I can give you your new playmate.” Eagle instructs, waiting until you had moved backwards an appropriate distance before fishing out his key that unlocked your cell. As you back away like you were told, your eyes shamelessly wonder over the new meat as he smirked from his side of the bars. 

He had the blessing of a pretty face on a body that had been well taken care of, he obviously was a fan of exercise and it showed in his muscle mass. He stood a few inches taller than you, his eyes a soft baby blue that hide the true nature that lurked behind them. His dirty blonde locks were carefully placed in a sloppy way, a prominent cowlick sitting upright from his hairline. The orange of his jumpsuit contrasted with his eyes, making them shine with increasing intensity the more he stared into your own [E/C] eyes. He was eyeing you up at the same time, the two of you only taking a split second to register that the other was a threat and it was best not to get in the way of one another.  
“Plat nicely, boys.” Eagle tells the both of you, opening the cell door and shoving in the newest addition. With his hands still cuffed, he stumbles slightly, and you don’t bother to even outstretch a hand in an attempt to help. You watch him almost fall, but he straightens himself as Eagle shuts the door behind him once he is fully inside, the clank of the lock initiating once it was shut properly. Putting his hands through the bars, he unlocks the cuffs and takes them back from him. “Lights out at usual.” Eagle announces so the whole block can hear as he checks the security of the cell, then backs away behind the painted yellow line and continues down the hall. 

With your head slightly tilted to the side in a state of curiosity about your new cell-mate, you watch from your position as he rubs the irritated skin of his wrists from the handcuffs he had previously been locked in.  
“Alfred.” He speaks first, and you’re forced to notice how his voice is smooth like honey, and his eyes bait the trap that he uses his voice for. He extends his hand, calloused from hauling bodies and carrying large amounts of stolen goods. You eye his hand slightly, but you choose to take his hand and initiate a firm handshake.  
“[F/N], but everyone calls me Boss.” He nods, assessing your power from your handshake before you separate. Across the hall, Weasel watches with interest as you greet the newbie and seem to accept him into the prison. He had no doubt it was because Alfred was a good-looking man, but he had strength, something that you could use against the guards and probably himself. Inside your cell, you open your arms to sweep around the small room that only fit a bed and a barely functioning toilet.  
“Welcome to prison, Porkchop.” You tell him with a lopsided smirk, giving him the grand tour before you return to your bunk and slip onto the tattered and thin mattress that was stained with bodily fluid you didn’t want to think about. His brows knit together in confusion, pulling a face at your term of endearment for him as he watches you settle before lights out.  
“Porkchop?” He asks, testing the name in his mouth and deciding he didn’t like the taste of it. He follows your movement, hoisting himself up onto the empty top bunk and grimace at the state of his bed. You chuckle to yourself as the American settled above you, mumbling to himself before the lights outside in the cell block go out and you get ready for the noises that fill the dark. 

\----

The only way off this island was either by boat or by plane, the docks were heavily guarded and getting up to the roof proved to be a difficult task. However, the stars had aligned and with the help of Porkchop and his love for testing the guards, you were able to get the plans finished and Weasel proved he could get his hands dirty when needed. A few months after your new cell-mate had been introduced into your mitts, you were approached by Weasel in the yard during your allocated time for outdoor exercise and break from physical labour.  
“Oi, Boss, we’re all set up for tonight.” The Frenchman whispered to you, his sapphire blue eyes scanning the yard to ensure that no one would overhear this conversation and to keep a tab on where all the guards were located. You nod and pat him on the shoulder, a non-verbal interaction of praise before he scurries away to pass on the information to the others included in the plan. As you watched him run to the Englishman, Arthur ‘Teabag’ Kirkland, and the Canadian, Matthew ‘Moose’ Williams whilst Alfred frowned to himself and stands next to you.  
“What’s set up?” He asks as though he had no idea what subtly was, his normal obnoxiously loud voice carrying out across the yard to the closest guard which caused him to focus on the two of you. After a day or two of learning the ropes around the prison, and discovering his rank in the pecking order, Alfred knew that his easiest bet to climb the ladder of power here was to stay near you. So, he stuck by your side whenever he could, like a lost puppy who was unsure of its location and needed to stay near its owner. He could be a bit dense at times, his beauty had a price after all, but when he was taught something, it would stick for life.  
“Quiet.” You command in a strict tone, eyes burning with annoyance as they flick over to the guard that was watching you like a hawk. Alfred follows your gaze, nodding in understanding as he zips his mouth shut. “Not here.” You instruct him, to which he slides his hands into the pockets of his orange jumpsuit; curiosity igniting his baby blue eyes. 

You could practically see the gears turning in the blonde’s head as he tried to understand what Francis had meant with his message to you, he constantly glanced from you to the other three men that seemed to share the same information. Your time in the yard had finished, your group escorted to the wash room and put to work with laundry duty. You stood next to Alfred at the workbench in the corner, nimble fingers working as you folded clothes.  
“Can you tell me now?” He asks, making sure to keep his voice low enough to only you could hear him. Talk was censored a majority of the time, so the both of you watched the guards that oversaw your work to ensure you could talk to him without getting in trouble and delaying the escape plan even more.  
“We’re busting out of here. Tonight.” You tell him, placing the newly folded pile white shirts into the basket next to you, walking behind Alfred to grab the next pile of freshly washed and dried clothing. Alfred immediately perked up, excitement shining in his eyes at the thought of a prison break.  
“Tonight?” He asked, and you give the back of his shin a sharp kick as a warning when one of the guards looked over in his direction. His excitement had caused a little outburst, and he sends and apologetic look towards the guard who gives him a warning. You wait a few more moments until the suspicion had died down, constantly working so you wouldn’t get into any trouble.  
“We’ve been over it fifty times, and we’ll go over it another fifty times if we have to.” You confirm to him, planning a break out with more than one person was a difficult task- especially when you’re in a maximum prison with constant eyes everywhere and light being shone into the darkness. You stopped talking when another inmate dumps more work onto the table, silently walking away back to his station at the washing machine before Alfred speaks.  
“What’s the plan, Boss?” You allow the corners of your mouth to tilt upwards in a twitch of movement at the nickname, he recognised the pecking order and it only took a few broken bones and severe beatings for him to do so. You had spent countless hours thinking over the plan you had concocted, looking at it from all angles to see if there were any pitfalls that could cause the whole thing to fall through.  
“9:30; lights out. Eagle makes his rounds. 9:35; Weasel fakes illness so severe that Eagle has to open his cell. Moose got the materials to make a shiv, one quick stab in the chest and he’ll bleed out. Weasel gets the keys on Eagle’s belt, opens up our cells, and we head to the roof.” You tell Alfred as your mind’s eye visualises the main event, creating every detail to how it would be in reality down to the last spec of dirt on the cement floor of the cell block. “Teabag has his fingers in all parts of this prison, he has everything waiting on the roof- a getaway plane that is unguarded due to a riot that will break out in block B.” You can’t help the faint smile that comes to your face as you think about standing on the roof, access to the plane given to you and the other inmates as the guards panic about the sudden revolt. 

After your work in the laundry room, your group was taken to the showers and as usual, you kept yourself to yourself. No one dared to try usurping your power, you ran this prison amongst the inmates and even some of the guards feared you. The cold water washed away the work of the day, your stomach already empty from the bare minimum they could give at meal time, the suds of the itchy soap accumulating on the tiled flooring to drain away in the piping that pumped it out into the ocean. Using a towel that had long last seen its glory days, you dressed and were escorted back to your cell for a few moments before lights out. There was a heavy silence in your cell as you lay on your back on your mattress, staring up at the slight dip where Alfred’s weight pushed down against the worn metal. The beating of your heart was the only measure of time you had until lights out and Eagle made his rounds, the coil of snakes in your stomach writhed with agitation from waiting for the right moment. 

The metal of the bunk began to creak from movement above, the dip moving as your eyes shift to the side where Alfred’s head soon appeared. He was hanging it upside-down, his locks dangling as his eyes stayed trained on you. You remained unmoving, arms under yours head as you hooked your ankles. You cock an eyebrow at him, questioning him without opening your mouth as he just stares at you.  
“Is it true that you’re in here for genocide?” He finally asks, his only response a smile that only a man who has watched the life drain from someone’s eyes can produce. You watch the colour drain from his face as he gets his answer, and you simply nod to make sure he understood.  
“Why do you think I’ve had so many cell-mates?” You return with a question, and you watch as he slightly inches backwards and away from you. He had no where to go, he was locked in here with you. You let out a low chuckle, enjoying the way he squirmed from the noise as he stopped himself from curling in on himself. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” You attempted to assure him, but it only made him more scared, he even trembled slightly.  
“What did you do?” You ask him, already knowing his answer. You had gotten a full report from Weasel three days after Alfred had arrived, the Frenchman had a way of using seduction to get what he wanted, and he immediately ran to you. However, you wanted to hear it from the horses’ mouth, you wanted to hear how Alfred interpreted his actions that landed him in this classified prison.  
“It started as just another bank robbery.” He tells you, shifting himself so he’s mimicking the way you’re laid, his eyes trained on the cement ceiling above him. He takes a moment as he thinks back to how he got busted, what he was charged with, and the journey across the sea blindfolded so he didn’t know where he was going. “One of the hostages became aggressive, tried to tackle the gun out of my hand. So I shot him.” Alfred tells you, his voice unwavering as he thinks back to the homicide. “We killed the rest of the hostages. There was a pregnant lady with her little kid. Shot them right between the eyes.”  
“9:30, boys! Light’s out!” Eagle’s voice echoes through the hall, followed by his footsteps and the click of the lights as they switch off in the cells. With his baton in his hand, he makes his way past every cell on the ground floor and peers inside to ensure everything is fine.  
“Showtime.” You grin to yourself, already itching to escape from Devil’s Heart. 

\----

Leaving behind your bunk, you get to your feet and waltz over to the small table that was granted in your room. Pouring yourself a drink of water, you lean against the concrete wall as Alfred sits up. He stays on his bunk, legs dangling down over the side as the both of you stay quiet, listening to the heavy thud of Eagle’s boots increase in sound as he got closer, paired with the tell-tale sound of his nightstick hitting against his gloved hand in a reminder that he was armed. Across the hall from you, Weasel gives you a curt nod to show he was ready for his important role to play. 

You see Eagle’s shadow first, pouring out the water and turning to face him as he pauses at your cell. Your light was still on, all you had to do was distract him long enough for Weasel to start his show. Carrying the small mug of water, you approach the bars as you speak to the guard.  
“How we doin’ tonight, Eagle?” You ask him, successfully getting his attention as he pauses in front of you- metal bars separating the two of you. You lean against the wall, marks from how many days you had been here etched into the concrete wall. “Family good?” You ask, not giving a rat’s ass about this man’s family. His family would lose a son, a husband and a father, but it was a price you were willing to pay in exchange for freedom.  
“Doin’ great Mr. [L/N].” Eagle replies, keeping a safe distance from your cell as per protocol. You take a sip of your drink, Alfred watching behind you as you nod in acknowledgement and feign interest. “My boy Tommy? He’s almost six now.” He tells you, the sense of pride evident in his words as he points with his nightstick. You let the flavourless water flood your mouth, then pass down your throat to settle in your stomach.  
“Ain’t that swell.” You tell him, a faux smile on your lips as you slip on hand into the pocket of your jumpsuit, hand still holding onto the handle of the mug. Two pairs of eyes watch him from inside the cell as he gives you a small nod, he moves away from your home to check on the inmate next to you.  
“Hey Matt, get that tip for Saturday’s race yet?” Eagle asks the stoic Canadian as he sits on his barely adequate toilet, a to-date newspaper in his hands and doesn’t bother to look over at the guard.  
“I’m working on it. Right now.” He retaliates, jaw clenched at being watched do his business like an animal in the woods. He shakes his head to himself, returning to his newspaper as Eagle continues- best to leave him to himself. 

When Eagle reaches the cell next to Moose, Weasel starts to cry out in pain. His wails bounce off the cement walls of the hallway, echo carrying along all the cells and Eagle glances over at his cell. From behind him in the darkened cell, Arthur lights a match and illuminates his presence.  
“You gonna shut him up,” Arthur asks, stepping closer to his bars as his lips move around the cigarette between them. “Or do I gotta do it?” He finishes, his angst towards the Frenchman was infamous amongst the inmates and guards, their fights often had to be broken up otherwise one of them would end up in a body bag. Arthur brings the lit match to the end of his cigarette, lighting the paper and tobacco as Eagle strikes the bars of his cell with his baton in a warning.  
“You know the rules, Kirkland. No talking.” Eagle reminds him in a stern tone whilst Weasel continues to cry out in pain. He turns away from the smoking man and towards the cell which housed the man in agony, laying on his cell floor with his hand over his chest. Concerned about the man inside, Eagle unhooks his keys and works to open the door.  
“Dammit, Francis.” Eagle mumbles to himself, the clanking of the keys against the metal lock was music to your ears as he slid the door to the side to grant himself access into the cell.  
“You’ve gotta get the doc!” Weasel howls in fake pain, groaning and tossing about on the floor as Eagle enters the cell in order to aid the man.  
“This better be the real deal this time.” He warns, fully aware of how real Weasel’s shows could be. He’s done this kind of thing before in attempts to skip out of work and lay in the infirmary, however none of the guards wanted to take that risk as he had almost died from being neglected whilst ill one time. 

From your cell you listened as there was a heavy thump, the sound of blunt force trauma followed by a person stumbling. The slick sound of skin splitting, and a blade being embedded into the body was heard next, the small struggle cut even shorter as Weasel pierced the guard’s heart. His grown body hit the floor, lifeless, and Weasel robbed his fresh corpse for the keys and runs out of his cell. His hurried footsteps head straight to your cell, crossing the hall as fast as he could and made fast work of the lock. Once your cell door was open, he rushed to the next two cells to release Matthew and Arthur. You push yourself from the wall, tossing away your empty mug as you shoot a grin towards Alfred.  
“Let’s get moving.”

Gathering with the other three out in the hall, Arthur takes from his cell a hidden stash of five pistols. He grins with pride as he hands out the firearms, smoke circling above him as he smokes his cigarette.  
“Here you go, fellas. Curtesy of the warden’s own private collection.” He boasts as he finishes his smoke, taking one last drag to pollute his lungs before letting it leave his lips.  
“Boys in laundry stash the parts?” Francis asks, causing Arthur’s eye to twitch with annoyance from the question. He flicks the still lit cigarette at the Frenchman, scoffing at the implication that he had failed his job.  
“Course they did.” Francis opened his mouth to retort, over their previous sparks of an argument your ears had picked up the sounds of grunts and shuffling. You slap your hand against Arthur’s upper arm, your eyes trained past him and Matthew, to Francis’ cell. The five of you watched in fascination and disbelief as Eagle’s body twitched and jerked, feet sliding against the concrete below as though he had forgotten how to walk. His jaw was slack, throat letting out deep and guttural noises that sounded unnatural for a normal human’s vocal chords.  
“What the fuck? Francis, you’ve been in here too long, you forgot how to get shit done!” Arthur snaps at Francis, his anger rolling off of his body at the implications of Eagle still being alive. Watching with curiosity in the way that the former guard moved, a feeling deep in your gut told you that something was off. Why hadn’t he called for help?  
“I swear I stabbed him in the heart!” Weasel defends, unsure of himself as he checks the bloodied shiv Matthew had gotten for him. He knew where to stab on a person’s anatomy to induce immediate death, and at the very least, Eagle shouldn’t be walking with a stab to the chest- even if it missed his heart. 

Eagle was bent at the waist, his arms wrapped around his centre as he stumbled into turning his body towards the five inmates who were out of their cells. You stumble backwards out of pure shock when he lifts up his head, his skin was sunken and ash-grey with decay, his face disfigured and almost unrecognisable if it wasn’t for his uniform. His eyes shook you the most, they glowed a pure red that could only have been ignited by the flames of Hell. He throws back his head, pushing forward his chest as his arms retract, his mouth opening as he lets out a screech that rattled you to the core. Beside you, Alfred jumps as a sudden gunshot echoes through the cell block- Eagle’s left side jerked backwards with the impact of the bullet, and Arthur stood there with an annoyed look in his face and his pistol pointed at the guard. Eagle grunts to himself, looking down at the hole the bullet had left, before he snaps his head towards the group of escapees.  
“The fuck?” Arthur asks, his finger still on the trigger as the group watches the still standing wounded man in uncertainty. Despite being unsure about what the creature that stood before you was, you shake the shock that had been there, and move to stand beside Arthur and outstretch your arm to point the pistol at the guard. Alfred, Matthew and Francis shortly follow, then the almost deafening onslaught of pistols firing greeted your ears. Eagle started to advance, his body only responding by jolting backwards every time it was pierced with a bullet. His suit was riddled with fresh bullet holes, the blood that left him was not that of someone who was still alive- it didn’t flow freely like a bullet wound would cause, it just simply stained the outer areas of the holes in his fabric. Behind him, blood splattered outwards and he back to leave a trail until he lurches to a stop a few feet in front of the group. Trailing your guns to follow his fall, he lands on his knees, the light in his eyes was slowly being snuffed out as he falls onto his face and lays unmoving.  
“Something isn’t right here.” Weasel stammers to himself, fear laced in his voice as the group stare at the body on the floor. You watched around you as the hall began to shift and take on a new form, the floors had deep cracks and parts were lifted upwards, there were parts that were missing the immaculate concrete that had once been there. The lights flickered before the bulbs shattered, the broken glass falling and littering the floor. When you followed their descent, you noticed the sudden appearance of candles that were stuck to the floor with melted wax, some of the wicks burning to illuminate your surroundings.  
“You don’t say.” You whisper in alarm, a deep sense of dread settled itself in your stomach as your surrounding began to decay into a worsened state until the prison block was just an imitation of what it had once been. 

On the two floors above the group, dismembered limbs were scattered on the metal grating that served as a floor, along with blood dripping down from the freshly dead. Parts of the railing that served as safety had been removed, either completely missing or were damaged beyond salvageable. From the ceiling, bodies whose identities were hidden from being wrapped in linen and secured in chains hung by their feet. Down the hall that was now desecrated, you spotted clusters of small fires began to flicker as though the fires from Hell were seeping through the cracks of the floor of the prison. Horror filled your body as the clattering of metal echoed over the mixture of shrieks from the damned and screams of their victims, the cell doors of inmates slid open and let lose monstrosities. Shuffling out of their cells, perversions of what used to be the inmates limped into view as they were released.  
“Oh shit…” Weasel proclaims out of pure shock, words were lost to the rest of you as your brain tried to gauge what your eyes were seeing. Prisoners and officers were similar to how Eagle had looked after Weasel had stabbed him, their skin withered and decayed with time and death. Their flesh was grey in colour, ashen and void of life as they advanced towards your group. Their bodies were littered with wounds that revealed muscle and bone under the protection of the skin, blood staining their forms as they twitched and jerked towards those who weren’t dead like them. Barbed wire was wrapped around a majority of the dead’s bodies, the barbs latched onto the skin to stay in place as they reached out their arms towards you. Beside you, Weasel’s panic had caused his feet to move without his conscious input. He fumbled backwards, the sounds that ripped from the dead inmates and officers in front of the group would haunt you for the rest of your days. Their eyes were the same as Eagle’s; a hellish red that burned with a fury only the Devil could muster. 

Francis didn’t get far when he turned to abandon the group out of fear, his tracks blocked by one of the dead inmates that reached for his form. The decaying monster reached for him with a strength the previous owner of the body did not own, its eyes scorching with anger as Francis struggled for his life. Francis pushed back against the undead, his heart hammering so loud in his hears he could hear the pumping of his own blood as the monster’s cold hands touched him. With his free hand, Francis grabbed the inmate’s face, the skin moving easily under his gloved hands due to its inability to stick to the skull underneath as easy as it did in life. Without a second thought, he forced the muzzle of the pistol into the inmate’s gaping mouth and pulled the trigger. The light in the inmate’s eyes were immediately snuffed out when the bullet embedded itself into its brain, stopping all ability of motor skills as its knees buckled and it began to fall. Francis’ hand kept its grip on the inmate’s head, leaning down with the collapsing monster and pulling the trigger twice more as blood and brain matter splattered on the concrete below. Panting with the encounter, Francis stares at the creature that was once a fellow prisoner lay motionless on the floor of the cell block. 

After witnessing the immediate result of shooting them in the head, the remaining four of you began aiming for that specific target. The bodily fluids that left the dead with every bullet that pierced their skin often splattered onto your bodies, saturating your orange uniforms and only smearing into the fabric when you attempted to wipe it away. You quickly assessed that there were too many for the five of you to gun down without running out of ammo and resorting to other weapons, and you could easily get overwhelmed with the amount of undead. Moving backwards with each kill you successively took, you shout over the battle-cries of the undead towards you alive comrades.  
“Continue with the plan!” You scream at them, determined to make it off the Devil’s Heart, even if you had to kill everything in this prison with your bare hands. “Meet on the roof, we’ll get off this rock!” You encourage the others, grabbing Alfred by his sleeve and pulling him backwards with you. When there were too many getting too close, you call for the others to fall back and the group began to make the journey through the damned halls towards the stairs that gave access to the roof. 

Terrified to the core, Francis fired whenever his finger twitched, his method quickly caused him to run out of bullets. With a useless gun, he splinters away from the group and turns to a different hall. You call to him to come back, you could protect him in the group but a small horde of undead followed his path and blocked his way back. Unable to pull the trigger to protect himself, he stopped when a separate group of inmates and officers turn the corner he was headed to- efficiently cutting off his path. He turns to backtrack, face paling when he sees the previous group of dead advancing towards him with hunger pushing their actions and the fuel of the Devil forcing them on. They trapped him in seconds, circling around him with their hands grabbing onto anything that gave purchase. He shrieked in agony as he tried in vain to get away, even when the nails and teeth of the monsters punctured his skin and began to tear pieces of him away. You lost sight of him amongst the cluster of rotting bodies that tore into him, wetting their decaying hands and faces with the blood of your comrade. 

The access to the roof was close, a few hallways away, but there were so many of the dead that populated these halls you started to question whether or not you would be able to make it. You had to focus on your own survival, your brother in arms came second, so when one of the undead that was dissected at the waist fell from the second-floor railing and landed on Arthur, you didn’t stop running. The sudden bombardment of added weight falling onto him out of surprise, Arthur’s legs gave out and he fell to the ground. Your brain made a note to recognise the sound of his head battering against the concrete, the sickening splatter of his head cracking open caused a visual for you, so you didn’t have to look back at him. The blitz attack left him unable to defend himself, knocking him out as you pushed Alfred and Matthew onwards. You look back only to check how many there was, and how close they were to you, and found yourself disgusted as you feel thankful that Arthur’s death was causing the horde to slow to feast on him. You couldn’t resist, your eyes looked at Arthur before he was surrounded. You covered your mouth as you gagged, witnessing the undead who had caught him tear and dig into him. Shredding his clothes and getting them out of the way, nails dug into the skin of his back and pulled until the muscle was revealed- along with his spinal chord and ribs. The inmate who had pinned him by falling had taken to Arthur’s head, peeling away the cracked pieces of his skull to feast on his still-warm brain. 

Fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, balling into a fist and pulling when you realised that Alfred was pulling you away from the murder. You couldn’t afford to get lost in watching the destruction of your comrades, you ran beside Alfred as Matthew ran ahead. You turned the corner and spotted the gated door that protected the access to the roof, it was unlocked and open, just ready and waiting for you. You were so close to it that you could taste the fresh air that the rood granted, the getaway was waiting for you and you knew you could make it. Ahead of you, your stomach flipped as you watched one of the larger inmates emerged from his cell. There was nothing you could do to warn Matthew, you just kept running as the inmate ran into his side and didn’t stop until he almost forced Matthew through the wall. The overweight corpse stumbled backwards from the impact, letting out a screech of achievement as it calls others near it to join in and tear the alive man apart. Matthew slid down the wall, barely conscious as blood poured from his mouth, his purple eyes locking onto you and Alfred as you dodged the undead and ran past him. There was already a crowd around him, hands in his stomach and removing his intestines before his ass even hit the floor. 

“Keep running!” You bark at Alfred, your muscles and bones ached from the running, but you needed just one more extra push. Alfred was slightly ahead of you, but he stops to gun down a few strays that were near the gated door. It gave you enough time to catch up to him, both of your pistols were low on ammo, but the escape was right there. Alfred looks at you when you reach him, only to freeze when you run past him. You shoot two officers that stumbled towards you, hungry for your beating heart, the squelch of the bullet embedding itself into their brains fills your ears and you reach the threshold. Gripping onto the caged door, you pull it shut behind you before turning. You pant and rasp as you watch Alfred run out of bullets, the look of absolute betrayal on his face as he is swarmed by the undead from all angles. He is torn apart as he collapses to the floor of the prison, only a few feet away from the door. Taking a few steps backwards, you fully turn to face the stairs that lead up to the roof. Your path is blocked by an officer, his clothing torn and tattered from his own death, his eyes glowing red and his groans emitted over your face. The stench of the decaying man flooded your senses, causing you to real backwards and attempt to aim your gun at the enemy. The undead officer moves fast for a corpse, shoving your arm aside as you let off your last shot, and he digs his teeth into your neck. 

Your eyes snap open and your lungs pull in air in such a violent motion that it hurts your chest. Sitting up disorientated, your eyes burn as they adjust to your surroundings. Your heart hammers against your chest bone, your hand resting over it as you come to the realisation that you’re sitting on your bunk in your cell. Above you, Alfred is startled by the sudden movement, looking down at you in confusion as you get up and explore the small cell as though you were a frustrated and bewildered caged animal. Your head was spinning, you could hear the heavy footfalls of a guard outside in the hall as the lights began to go out.  
“Boss?” Alfred asks your name, just as confused as you were as he watched you skit around the cell in agitation. You go to the bars of your cell, tripping over your own feet and stumble forward with the loss of balance. You grab onto the bars and stop your fall, your forehead bangs against the bar before you push your face between them.  
“Weasel!” You yell across the hall, causing the blonde Frenchman to jump and go to his bars. His form trembled slightly as he looked at you, the usually composed and stoic boss of the prison was shaking and pale.  
“Oui, Boss?” He asks, taking a subconscious step backwards as you started to fill him with anxiety and concern. You looked ill, and you couldn’t understand why you were here. The last thing you remembered was the undead tearing you apart, and you woke up here.  
“We’re still in our cells!” You demand, wanting an explanation for what had just happened. It was too real to be a fever dream, the guilt you felt for betraying Alfred stung your eyes as you felt your throat tighten.  
“Lights out hasn’t started yet…wasn’t that the plan?” He asks, more of the cells started to go out as you stare at him in disbelief.  
“9:30 boys! Lights out!” Your head snaps towards the sound of Eagle’s voice, it was happening again.  
“Boss?” Alfred asks from behind you again, but all you can do it stand there, gripping the metal bars of the cell as Eagle came closer. It was happening again. It was going to happen again. 

\---

Safely inside the luxury of the Oval Office in the White House of America, the President flicked through the reports from the prison in the Bermuda Triangle. His expression stayed unchanged, eyes scanning through the reports as they ran the tests on the prisoners inside. He regretted approving the facility, the secrecy and dehumanisation that happened inside its walls ate at him every passing day. It was built in good intentions, a sister to Alcatraz, built for those who committed such acts against humanity that they would be sent there for hopeful rehabilitation. When the President had been approached by a great scientist and the military, backed by furious citizens, he found their demands to be outrageous. 

He approved the construction of the facility, Devil’s Heart, and overlooked all the experiments that happened inside to the prisoners. The scientist that helped conduct these experiments designed for rehabilitation proposed an experiment along the lines of hypnosis. The President read through the experiment you had been a part of, his stomach churning at the experience you had been put through repeatedly that was named ‘Rehabilitation Through the Undead’. The report gave great detail about what you experienced, the different paths you had taken throughout the hypnosis, and when he reached the conclusion of the report, he closed the file and wished to never read it again. 

After the experiment you had been put through for the crimes you had committed against humanity, the repetition of trauma had caused you to become unresponsive. The scientist and warden in charge of the facility had requested that the President choose how to deal with your situation; either lobotomy or execution.


End file.
